The Schuyler Sisters
by sarcastic commentator
Summary: a series of one-shots regarding - obviously - the Schuyler sisters! They will range in genres, and the rating might change sometime in the future, though of course, I will out individual warnings if any apply! Please give it a try, and I hope you enjoy!
1. 1

**hi! please review and tell me what you think!**

 **3 times Angelica Schuyler broke a heart, and the 1 time she got her heart broken**

 **Summary: Thomas Jefferson, John Church, and her own father. Angelica Schuyler could make many people regret their decisions, make many people curse their hearts for falling for a person like her. She never thought that she could feel so many things, that she could hate her heart, that treacherous being, as she did when she met Alexander Hamilton.**

 _Thomas Jefferson_

 _From the moment Angelica walked into his life, he had had feelings for her. From their first meeting in kindergarten to that last goodbye in his apartment, they had been fast friends. From their first meeting, they had shared so many important milestones and memories that it was difficult to discern which ones were simply figments of their overactive imaginations._

 _It became quickly apparent that Thomas was one of the only people who could match Angelica in a battle of wits, or intelligence. It only served to help spur their achievements, both people driving and competing against each other, providing marks on the wall for them to constantly cross._

 _They were best friends straight from Kindergarten through to freshman year, but even the strongest bonds frayed eventually._

 _However, the first time Thomas truly noticed Angelica Schuyler was during debate club, in Freshman year. He noticed the way her long wavy hair hung just past her shoulder blades, swaying gently as she strode the hallways with confidence. He noticed the way her eyes sparkled with intelligence. He noticed her words, the way she could weave them seamlessly into pictures, entrancing almost everyone listening. Once he noticed himself noticing these details, he knew he was gone._

 _It was a normal day, and normal things were happening as they usually would._

' _Hello everyone, and welcome to the first session of debate club for the semester!' The general greeted to the classroom._

' _For a demonstration to those who are new here,' he continued, with a meaningful glance towards James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and John Laurens,_

' _Let's show them a taste of Revolutionary debating! Thomas, Angelica, why don't you start us off?'_

 _Washington asked his top students, and the class, all of which was currently hosting a small riot,_

' _Also, although I do understand how exciting this must be, it would be nice if everyone would quiet down,' he asked after, as the friends made their way up together, competitive smiles mirroring the other on their faces._

' _The topic is women's rights, Angelica for, Thomas against,' Washington said, still hosting a grin as he sat back down to let his students get to work._

 _When Angelica destroyed him that afternoon, and for the first, he didn't care. The only thing he saw at that moment was the way her eyes sparkled with the victory, the way she seemed bouncy for the rest of the period._

 _The next day_

'I am so sorry, Thomas, but even you can tell we didn't really mean to get so tangled up, right?' Angelica asked with a small smile as she gestured to the predicament she had found herself in (Thomas's apartment). Thomas nodded numbly, the weight of his actions not occurring to him as she left the room without another word. When she left, all Thomas could think to do was heave out the long, heavy breath that he had been holding in. All he could do was sit there and stare at the empty space his best friend and longtime crush had just vacated. She had walked out of his life as easily as she had walked up to him and declared their friendship all those years ago. He could have sat there all day, silently reliving once warm memories, memories that now haunted him like sentient beings, beings with sharp minds of their own.

He did too, until James Madison, his friend for as long as he could remember, burst through the door, carrying chocolates and french pastries. James set the treats down of his coffee table immediately, surveying the scene before him. Before Thomas could really do much, his best friend was on the floor beside him (since when had he been sitting on the floor?).

'I'm sorry,' was all he said. For the first time, in what, 30 minutes (?) Thomas broke his intense stare with the wall. He leaned into James' embrace, finally letting the tears that had long ago been clouding his vision fall.

'I really thought i might have been able to make that work, y'know?' he asked, in a thick voice that he never thought he could own.

'Yeah, but hey, at least your not the only one whose heart got broken by her, huh?' James asked, cracking a small smile.

 _John Church_

John smiled as he walked his girlfriend of 4 years now to their favourite spot in the city. The hollowed out tree next to where the had first met had been a near sacred spot for the both of them, and he hoped that it would be the host to many fond memories they would look back on in a few years time.

He revelled in the quietness, away from their constantly moving lives, what with her life as a lawyer, and his profession in the military, they weren't quite the _normal_ pair.

Angelica exclaimed quietly when she recognised the spot he was leading her to.

'Wow! I had almost forgotten this place!' she said quietly, careful not to disturb the delicately peaceful atmosphere around them. She didn't notice the way Church's shoulders slumped along with her offhand remark.

John took her hands and carefully helped her onto the branches of the hollowed out oak tree, one that held so many fond memories for the both of them.

'What are we doing here?'' Angelica asked, her confusion evident by her furrowed eyebrows.

'So you know how we have so many memories about this place,' John started out hesitantly, butterflies of worry and anticipation flying around his stomach,

'I think it's time to make a new one,' he said, bending down on one knee. Angelica looked at him in utter shock, and he felt a twinge of satisfaction, he had managed to finally get her speechless.

'Angelica, I've loved you for more time than you could imagine, so please, will you marry me?' he asked after a deep breath, holding out a little black box. Angelica simply looked at him, her face screwed in a mixture of horror and excitement. He was starting to get really nervous.

'Angelica?'

There was no answer. He knew he had screwed up. All he heard was a small mutter, before she ran away, presumably never to see him again.

'Oh shit….' he muttered softly, looking around at the hollowed out tree, which was starting to feel claustrophobic and closed in without another human with him.

John Church fled the hollow, he didn't look back. The only memory he could now remember was the feeling of hot, wet tears blinding his eyesight as he ran back to his dorm, determined to forget the evening had ever occurred; determined to wake up and find it had all been a nightmare.

There was so much that had been going to happen, there was still so much that they hadn't done.

Philip Schuyler

Philip Schuyler knew from the first time he set his eyes on his firstborn child that she would do great things. She had large, doe eyes strikingly similar to her mother's, and sharp, angular features distinguishable from birth. Even in the matron bed of the hospital, she was a quiet baby, looking around at her surroundings in an awestruck wonder. He could only hope that his little girl would retain that innocence throughout her life.

He didn't realise then how his daughter would fail to walk along the path he had so carefully set before her. How she would create her own, spitting in his face the work he had put into making her life something out of a fairy tail before she was even born.

He failed to realise how she wouldn't stand for being the kind of women needed in the aristocratic world she born into. The world that still followed morals left behind by other long ago. That she would want to _do_ something, that she would want to _be_ someone. He failed to realise that she wouldn't survive well in the life he had crafted for her, that she wouldn't take well to a pre decided destiny.

He was ignorant of the fact that she might not need the type of daughter he needed. That, hard as she might try, she would never impress him, never induce the kind of burning pride all parents were meant to feel when their child succeeds a goal.

Still, it was sweet while it lasted. Philip smiled softly, tears dripping down his cheeks as he held his firstborn near his chest, feeling protectiveness wash over him. He knew this one would do great things, and he would try as he knew how to encourage her. He promised to love her unconditionally, through thick and thin, on whatever path she chose to follow.

On his deathbed, he wished he had kept that one promise; the one promise he failed to keep.

One time she got her heart broken: Alexander Hamilton

Angelica Schuyler had lived, loved and lost just like all other human beings. She had thought it might have been different with this one. Instead, it had ended before it even began. She first saw him - really saw him when they were paired together for a group, geography, if she remembered correctly. The first thing she noticed about him was his eyes. The colour of freshly grounded coffee beans, they were full of lively intelligence; they were full of worldly knowledge at the tender age of 16. Unparalleled by all the others she had seen first, it was those eyes she fell in love with first.

Alexander had always managed to charm her family, maybe the first time she had brought a boy home that her father had instantly approved of. From the first time he visited, straight through to when he officially joined the family, he was a welcome addition to the lively household. Her mother, Catherine, fell for his impeccable manners, his delicate, almost feminine charms. Her father, Philip was immediately taken in by his extensive knowledge on American history and early politics; his firm stance behind the Democrats, of which Schuyler was a senator for. Her younger brother Philip loved the fun facts and life hacks Alexander always brought with him. Alex always treated 9-year-old Peggy like an equal, and she basked in his attention. It was her slightly younger sister Eliza's reaction that shattered her heart into little pieces.

From the very first time Eliza saw him, she knew she was helpless. With his shoulder-length, bright red, glossy hair and the lanky, relaxed confidence radiating from every pore in his body, she knew she was gone. Gone and never coming back.

'Yo, this one's mine,' she whispered conspiratorially to her older sister at the first moment she then got Angelica to herself. Her voice was weak in giddy happiness. She didn't notice the fractured light emanating from Angelica's usually bright hazel eyes, as if someone had just shattered her beautiful irises. She didn't notice how her older sister seemed to slump as if the terribly tight, fraying shred of rope had she had been holding onto had just been violently ripped to shreds. All she heard was Angelica's forced smile, and her words of agreement. The words that took the light from Angelica's world, and made Eliza's just that much brighter. Something Angelica would have sacrificed anything, anything to make that happen.

After that, Angelica tried, she really did. She tried not to watch his dark silhouette as he wrote furiously for whatever paper he was working. She tried not to notice the dark swirling patterns in his eyes that had first enraptured her, which she kept finding more of as she cleared away the shadows constantly clouding his eyes. She tried so terribly, terribly hard to distance herself from the sharp mind, sharper tongue and beautiful eyes of the boy that she had loved for so long. She stayed friends, but left it up to her younger sister to invite him to their mansion, and accompany him to parties and dances. She always pushed him away now, pushed him away into Eliza's waiting hands. Alexander might still have been an almost permanent fixture in the Schuyler mansion, but it was no longer because of Angelica.

That didn't mean that she didn't notice how undeniably happy Eliza was when she was in the same room as Alexander. The younger eyes seemed to brighten up and glow with a light she hadn't seen in Eliza's eyes for a time that seemed much too long in the eyes of a doting older sister.

That year, Alexander asked Eliza to the prom. Saying that she was happy for the two of them would be an understatement. She was absolutely elated that her closest sister and one of her best friends had found love. Eliza had found someone to spur her on; she had found a broken soul she could repair, someone who truly, deeply needed her. Alexander had found someone who encouraged him in his endeavours , yet grounded him when he floated too far, working himself half to death and not looking back.

Five years later, Alexander asked Eliza to marry him. As the Maid of Honour, Eliza was counting on her, as she couldn't let that trust down. Still, it was hard when you were talking about the undeniable love her sister, and the one person she had loved for years, shared. Still, it was her duty to her sister, something she out before anything else, and if that meant the only thing she could do was watch from afar, hoping that their love was strong enough to overcome all the challenges life threw at them, then that was what she would do. Because after all, what else did Angelica Schuyler do other than watch from afar, protecting her family?


	2. makeup - Peggy finds her sisters makeup!

**literally just something that i typed up on the train ride to and from school, celebrating (not) the first day of term 4! in Australia. anyway, I'm sure that it is riddled with errors, but please follow, favourite and review, even it is juts pointing out typos!**

7-year-old Peggy wandered around the near deserted halls of the Schuyler Mansion in Saratoga, her long white cotton dress flowing out from under her. It was almost mid afternoon and the heat was near unbearable, which was only making her boredom and hyperactiveness more tiresome to those in charge - namely the nurse. The nurse that had sent her out to go get a glass of water. However, Peggy had no intentions of turning back downstairs any time soon.

 _I'm a big girl now, I don't need naptime!_ She thought to herself victoriously.

Peggy navigated the mansion with ease of someone who had lived their all their life, running gleefully around sudden corners and hiding behind shadowy alcoves. After the first euphoria wore off, though she realised she was in no better place than she had been before. The estate at this time in the day was _boring._ Slowing down, she racked her small head for something _anything_ to stave off the now suffocating boredom. So, she diverted her admittedly short attention span to finding her older sisters, Eliza and Angelica; they were almost always doing something interesting, and almost always let Peggy tag along, even when they had sneaked off downtown, _in the middle of the night,_ regardless of how hesitant Peggy herself had been at the time.

Finally with a purpose, she hurried up and down the mad hallways of the upper levels, almost tripping over her slightly-too-long dress. She scrambled up stairs and nearly knocked down several priceless (she was sure, everything they owned was priceless, their mother had said. Peggy still didn't quite understand, if something was priceless, didn't that mean it was worth nothing?) vases, but she eventually found herself in front of a - locked - door. Now Peggy was starting to get annoyed.

'Angie! Eliza! Can I come in?' she asked, her high voice even shriller in impatience. She banged on the door with her tiny fists, which seemed to get her sisters' attention. Peggy smiled. Finally. The door opened, revealing the giggling sisters, who were currently sitting on Angelica's bed, wielding a strange black and red device. Angelica's ips were also redder than usual...

'What are you doing?' Peggy gasped, in wonderment and more than a little shock. Eiza smiled slightly, while Angelica simply rolled her eyes, responding,

'Nothing much, but it'll probably be boring for you, soooo, Shoo!' she said, taking a step towards her younger sister. Peggy simply squared her shoulders, more than happy for a small argument.

'Maybe, but not as boring as running in the house, doing literally _nothing_!'

Eliza giggled a bit, she always was the softer one when it came to Peggy, which was probably why she was peggy's favourite sister (not that she would _ever_ admit that to Angelica).

'Come on, Angie, it might be fun to let her join us!' she said, trying to hold back giggles while sounding serious enough to be taken seriously by her older sister. Angelica just sighed, realising that she might not win this argument, and hesitantly walked up to the door, holding it open just a little wider,

'Come on in, Pegs,' she said brightly, albeit slightly hesitantly. Peggy needed no further encouragement, bounding into their room and jumping up on the bed. Angelica smiled softly, Peggy was probably the cutest little sister anyone could ask for (although maybe not the _most little sister-esque, but did any little siblings ever really submit to the role anyway?_ )

 **P.s the black and red device was lipstick**


	3. what a young girl should not know

**Hey friends! Glad to say that I am not indeed dead, simply drowning in an ever-growing pile of homework! Still, I am incredibly sorry for neglecting to update or publish anything for the PAST MONTH! I do sincerely hope that this satisfies you for the time being, and maybe you'll be glad to know that there are several other fics currently in the works! anyway...Enjoy!**

Eliza Schuyler was perfectly normal, especially compared to her beautiful, smart, brave sisters; Eliza was nothing special. However. However, Eliza had a secret, a tremendous secret that was so dangerous, even downright blasphemous in the hugely misogynistic country she lived in that it could very well have tarnished the Schuyler name for decades. It all started on a stormy, wind-blown night in the middle of an abnormally scorching fall…

The rain was battering down against her windowpane with startling fierceness for a late summer storm, and the wind was howling amongst the cherry trees in her yard, uttering words from languages far forgotten. Eliza simply could not sleep with the hot, muggy air in her bed-chambers suffocating her ability to breathe, think or even see straight. The night was dark, and heavy clouds were blocking what little light the moon could give her.

Quietly, Eliza padded from her bed into the cooler, fresher hallway. Aiming for a glass of water, She walked quietly to the downstairs kitchens, carefully not making a sound on the tiles she knew well through years of sneaking around. Ultimately, it was her nightgown that gave her away.

The kitchens were silent at that time in the night, Sally having gone home along with the parade of staff and cooks that always followed along with her. The air was much cooler around her and Eliza splashed some water on her face while she was still there. She blamed it on luck that she overheard her dad, major general Philip Schuyler, speaking in the nearby dining room.

' _No, no, no! Mr Schuyler! Please, let me complete!_

' _You expect me to stand here and watch while men are being killed defending my own property! I am a major general, Mr Arnold, and I will make my decisions!'_

' _...if you say so, Mr Schuyler, but I must say-'_

' _You will not tell me to do anything! You are in my own house, under my own roof, and you will respect me!' Mr Schuyler roared adamantly at the small, slinky figure in front of him. Saratoga was his second home; he had grown up there and he was not about to let enemy soldiers get their stinking hands on what might as well have been his property._

' _...'_

' _I will send the telegram informing General Horatio Gates of your arrival in the morn. Good night, sir.' Benedict Arnold slinked off, where neither Eliza nor Philip knew._

The tiled floors echoed hollowly with the sound of distressed feet running up to Philip. He felt the old bones in his neck creak and groan at the speed he whipped his head around to survey his surroundings; it turned out the soldier in him was not completely dormant after all. However, once the bright cornflower blue nightgown appeared from the corner, his tense muscles relaxed.

'Daddy, are you going to the war again?' Eliza asked urgently, worry colouring her voice. Philip groaned, this was always the hardest part of being a soldier; never knowing if you were coming home to your family, never knowing if a meal would be your last.

'Yes Liza, I am sorry you had to hear it like that, though,' he said, shaking his head remorsefully.

'Can I help?' Eliza asked, sure she could do at least something.

'I'm sorry sweetie, but right now the best you can do is go back to bed,' her Dad said, truthful as far as he could see. She could see further than him.

'Please, let me help, you know that I could write letters and maps on your behalf, you used to let me do some before.' she said, not quite fiercely.

'Eliza, you have to understand that you are older now, and this would not be a suitable aspect for our future husband.'

Eliza sighed, it always seemed that the topic had to lead to the eventual _what would your eventual husband think?_ She didn't even have a husband! Still, it was her father who was going to war, so it was her father's decision.

'Okay Dad, just, just promise not to go without saying goodbye,' she said sadly, watching her father nod. She was not going back to bed.

The empty dining room amplified every small sound she made, and the table was covered head to finely carved foot in papers, letters and maps. For once, she was glad to be a Schuyler, one of the most powerful and influential families on the east side of the colonies. No - the _United States of America_ thought Eliza, glad to be able to claim her country's independence, even to herself in an empty room. Her heritage meant one of the best educations in New York, even to the females of the families.

She looked over the letters and maps, trying to catch a glimpse or overview of what was happening. On the 17th of September 1777, the British army was crawling towards America's northern borders with Canada. They were facing militias led by Horatio Gates and Benedict Arnold - _who was currently sleeping in a feather bed under her own roof while his troops are out in the field fighting for everything they believe -_ Eliza realised angrily. She stared upwards, eyes narrowing in anger up to where she knew Arnold was snoring away.

She gathered up the many letters sent to her father by Horatio Gates, James Livingston and Gouverneur Morris. Eliza took a deep breath, certain of the long task ahead of her, and got to work drafting replies to the seemingly endless torrent of letters pushing in on her. She worked through the night, checking various maps and documents, writing maybe three sentences at a time before having to stop to fact check her information; she knew the terrible deaths men died because from carelessness or miscalculation.

Eliza could have slept for another week.

'Darling!' her mother's voice shrieked down the stairs, startling the young woman from her slumber,

' _Where are you?!'_

'I'm right down here, mother,' She groaned, wiping dried up ink from her cheekbones and checking to see if she had smudged any words while writing at the pace of a man on death row, which she supposed she had been, really.

Hurrying up the stair, she desperately righted her hair, removing any traces of parchment or ink from her body. _Hopefully, I helped daddy._ She thought, wandering up to her room.

'I just needed a glass of water, Mamma,' she said innocently, hands clasped behind her back at the sight of an angry, pregnant mother.

'...ok. Get dressed, you're late for your tutor _already_ , Elizabeth,' her mother said shortly after inspecting the middle daughter carefully for some time. Eliza let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding.

'My god, Catherine!' came the surprised voice of her father from the dining room, and Eliza smiled at the sound of his voice, lighter than she had heard it in weeks, glad to know that she _might_ have caused it.

'You didn't have to, this must have taken you the better part of the week!' Eliza brushed off the small amount of bitterness from not being recognised, happy to have done something to help her father at least, besides, the work would be valued as worthless if he ever found out that she was the one who had done it.

'Done _what?'_ Catherine snapped, viewing this as just one of Philip's many antics.

'Filled out and answered the letters!' came his excited voice, undeterred at Catherine's obvious ignorance.

'I didn't do that!'

' _Sure…'_

'No really! You should check them, make sure whoever did was trustworthy.'

Taking his wife's advice, Philip picked up the letters, surveying the handwriting. He recognised it immediately.

'Eliza! Could you come downstairs a minute?' he asked, tired all of a sudden.

'Yes, father?' the young woman asked meekly, descending the stairs with a grace that had been beaten into her ever since she could walk properly.

'Did you write these letters?'

'Yes..'

'Hiw many times do I have to tell you? You can help by nursing sick soldiers, by marrying someone who can help us, by asking the towns young men to volunteer, but not by _doing the actual work!'_ Philip groaned, his hands rising up to his face. The woman in front of him was almost old enough to marry, not be dallying around with these foolish antics. Her reply was steady, and surprising.

'Please father, I only wanted to help. However, do check the letters. I fact-checked them properly and I feel as though they may be of some substance. I _can_ decrease your workload.' she said quietly, determinedly.

Philip didn't want to get into a row with his sweetest daughter a week before his departure. He simply nodded his head.

That night, Eliza was back at the dining table, her quill going furiously back and forth once more that night, a massive grin on her face and a smiling father keeping her company. As she did for many days, weeks, months and years after, for her father and afterwards, Alexander. It was a shame she always had to sign her work as _Philip Schuyler,_ or, _Alexander Hamilton_.


	4. letters

**Hi again! so, um, this isn't a new year's or a Christmas one shot, sorry! still, um, there are three letters that Alexander Hamilton was not proud of, three letters in his entire life, which went to all three of the Schuyler sisters. Here we go!**

Peggy:

Peggy was sixteen years old and had the worldly experience of an infant. Sure, she was versed in etiquette, French, literacy, she knew how she could secure a good husband. It never felt like enough; for heaven's sake, she had barely stepped from her father's property as many times as she had fingers on her hands! It was those thoughts that flurried through her head at an alarming pace the day after the fateful winter's ball, where she learned more from the intelligent, charming young soldier, Laurens, about the world than she had in all her years at the tutor's classes.

The dark mahogany desk was a hard, unyielding surface against her head when she got up from a rest she shouldn't have been indulging in, there were too many letters from hopeful suitors she needed to shoot down, and not enough time in the short amount of sunlight she was sure to get in the dead of winter. The ruffles in her dark blue gown swished together when she rose for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Her bones popped as she stretched. Now, Peggy wouldn't say she _intentionally_ scanned the desk looking for a letter that sounded even _remotely_ interesting when she came across one from a soldier who had been tripping over his own feet after Eliza. Oh no, she would have simply tallied that up to pure coincidence.

 _Dear Margarita Schuyler,_

Came the first letter

 _In obedience to your sister miss Schuyler's demands, I have enclosed this letter to you. I endeavor to ask for your permission to assure you that the nature of our, hopefully recurring, correspondence, will have an uncommonly amiable nature. Set apart from other motives many men would jump at to be in your graces, my purposes have a more pointed nature: your dear sister, Elizabeth Schuyler._

 _In some peculiar happenstance, she seems to have mastered the art of keeping me enraptured by her every word, and all concerning herself. This being said, Eliza keeps a pretty picture of yourself and the accompanying mind, which have rendered me to feel a partiality not often seen for you, though we have not yet formally met. I hope you will feel that my forthcoming frankness will lend a good opinion of myself to you, so that we may become acquaintances. Many seem to infer to myself as though my_ irrational _confidence with the unforgiving world, and more often than not, with the opposite sex to be_ heinous. _So, I do hope you will take my frankness as a sign of honesty, nothing more nor less._

 _Your sister carries with herself the elegance of the noblewoman that she is, and has more than once favoured me with a glance. Eliza is most unmercifully beautiful, and she turns many heads. Notwithstanding her beauty, she posses none of the vanity, the frivolousness, of others her status and rigour, which sets her conspicuous from the other fools who will always take the path more travelled._

 _Such a strange specimen she is, carrying all the beauty and nature of her sex without the mindless baselessness, those defects so amiable. Many seasoned young men will find these qualities as_ lacking _, and I cannot stress how much it takes my breath away that your sister should be so_ wonderful.

 _Nevertheless, I must solicit your aid in the process of, for lack of other phrasing,_ wooing, _this perfect sister of yours. I was hoping, with the certain unattainable knowledge you have of her, you could help me in making sure that I could keep up the correspondence between ourselves before I must leave for South Carolina, where the battle is calling us. On my behalf, if you would ask her to send a letter my way, and if you could find the time, enclose yourself a letter, to aid myself?_

 _With sincere hope and chivalrous intent, I hope to hear from you again,_

 _Alexander Hamilton_

Peggy, who had been snuffling giggles from the start of the letter, let out a sudden whoop.

'Hey Liza!' She yelled, heedless of the maids that were undoubtedly going to come rushing in any minute.

'I think one of your letters got mixed up in my pile!' She heard the pattering sound of feet above her head.

'Give it to me, Peggy…' Peggy saw the blond curls bounce at her door, accompanied by a pout and a yellow dress. Leave it up to Eliza to switch colours did she ever even _think_ of wearing Eliza's trademark blue.

'On second thoughts…' Started Peggy, loving the colour drain from her sister's face,

'It _was_ addressed to me…'

'Who _was it?' A_ sked Eliza, as though she had been holding her breath for the entirety of Peggy's dragged out statement.

'A certain mister Hamilton, it seems,' she started off coyly, and Eliza's entire face lit up

'Really!?' She asked as Peggy handed over the letter with a snigger.

Angelica:

Angelica Schuyler Church had long since become used to the dull, gray lifestyle surrounding her at the Church manor in London. Though she still woke from dreams of bright colours and fresh American uniforms, of elegant balls and equally so men, of the feeling of warm wind against her face, it wasn't now with a jolt of sadness or loneliness, but dull gray resignation.

John Church was an ambitious man, and with every penny he brought in from the war profiteering market he engineered in America, he spent it on making sure he secured a place within the English House of representatives, or parliament. He was undeniably a good husband, he relented to her needs and wants, gave her freedom; he was a good man. Still, Angelica seemed to continue catching herself wondering how she ended up with such a drab life, how _her_ ambitions seemed to have fizzled out with the touch of a gold band onto her finger.

She wasn't sure when, and she wasn't sure how, but Angelica Schuyler spent so many nights home alone, reading from Tolstoy to Paine, that she could be considered a scholar from subjects ranging from political science to psychology. Still, as lifeless as her existence was, a small flame flickered within miles of ice. Her family's letters. They brought with them not only snippets of her darling siblings, but a shred of hope for returning to her roots, to her _home._

 _My dearest, Angelica_

" _Tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day," my tribute to the great Scottish misery comes not without reason, if you may allow me to rant. Mr Jefferson continues to plague the self and any member of our Congress daring to set foot from his office, in the hopes of raising support in dissent of my own financial plans for our country. Although I do not lower myself on the same level as his petty insults, these days I often feel as though, had I been Macbeth, Jefferson would have been the Mcduff, and Madison played the role of Bankwell._

 _I wish not to invite the monsters of the political world that already exist in my work life into my home, and therefore onto our Betsey, she has enough to worry about as it is. Still, as I have said before, and will continue to in near and far future, I trust your opinion with many of my own personal matters, so if you would be so kind as to partake in this deplorable situation. Mr Washington has been extremely liberal with speech of retirement as of late, and I cannot restrain myself from the chance that he would choose to retire early from his mantle. If he resigns, you can very well wish my aspirations farewell forever, as not any potential candidates either_ want _my contributions (Jefferson) or have the head to_ understand _my ideas (Adams sr.)_

 _Though you might have been living for many years now dining with European royalty, it always seems to strike me anew when I receive your beautiful letters. Here in the states, we are missing the delightful company of yourself and Mr Church terribly. Speaking of, how is he as of late; I heard he has now a seat in the parliament, for which I do congratulate him. However, I did tell him, and still stick to the opinion that he would have been better suited to the suits of the new congress back across the pond._

 _Love from myself, Betsey and the children._

 _A. Ham_

'Angelica!' Came a voice from downstairs, and Angelica wiped the smile off her face in a reflex action.

'Yes, dear?' She called back huskily from not having spoken for so long. Up came the reply telling her to get dressed for yet another political gathering where she would have to play the part of the dutiful trophy wife. She sighed, looking back at the letter that in all seriousness, could well have been her will to keep on going.

Alexander Hamilton and his family symbolised her hope for something more than what she had, for something that could put her down in history. Something where she could make a difference, where women would have options other than working twenty hour days for abusive companies or becoming trophies on the arms of rich men, who existed solely to bear children. Still, they were only baseless fantasies, and she was living in a dark, gritty, sometimes unbearable _real_ world.

The thought did not stop Angelica from flinching when the maid came up, saying in her high, young voice how Angelica needed to hurry for the chauffeur had come early. This was her life, and she needed to get used to it.

Eliza:

It had been with a heavy heart and dry eyes that Eliza had woken to a cold bed and a vague idea that Alexander had left for some early meeting before dawn. Rising from the soft bed, she padded toward his study. Sunlight was already streaming in through half opened curtains though it had only just passed eight, Eliza was beginning to feel the head end of an oppressively hot day. She looked blearily through half-closed eyelids, searching for dirty crockery, you never knew with her husband. She smiled when the desk seemed in order for once, and, mumbling under her breath, she left the room.

Or rather, she would have, had she not then caught sight of a freshly sealed, expensive manila envelope sitting right in the middle of the newly scrubbed desk. The envelope which was addressed to her.

'What has he done now…' Eliza muttered under her breath, wary of what new horrors the day might unfold from her. The sun had not yet passed its midpoint and she felt her shoulders sagging. Eliza flopped onto the beautifully carved chair on the other side of the desk heavily, with a lack of dignity that would have had her late mother wailing in embarrassment, and opened the envelope.

 _My very dearest, Eliza,_

 _This letter will not be delivered to you unless I have certainly ended my earthly career upon this world, and have risen above about to enter into a happy immortality. Had there been any possibility to avoid an early interview with death, I would have sought out the solution in a blink of the eye. Nevertheless, such sacrifices would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem, and I could not have brought myself to look you in your eyes._

 _I cannot bring myself to imagine your sorrow, for fear it will discourage me, shaky as my decision is already. The only, if any consolation that I may be able to offer you, is the knowledge that my soul is enjoying the fruits of the afterlife, and the mercy God has had upon me. May you, too, seek relief in his arms, and grief well._

 _Do embrace my children one last time for me, and as a last wish from the otherworld, I plead of you to keep my memory alive in the heart of the children whom I did not get to love, and cherish as I so wished. The misactions of my previous self have, in no uncertain terms, been great and many, but I wish for you to find it within yourself, to not let those pictures sully your memory of me, and let my soul go to rest in peace, knowing I have paid my dues upon the mortal world._

 _Adieu, Best of Wives, and Best of Women, farewell for the last time, may you and our children live a long and healthy life._

 _Forever yours in life and death, Alexander._

Alexander had written many things in his life, from shaky _ABCs_ as an infant; paragraphs that turned into palaces inscribing his love for a thousand and one women; pamphlets, reports, articles and even, recent of all, memoirs. Still, throughout the entirety of his writing, there was one that he could not seem to get enough of. Letters. They had been what had gotten him off that dreadful island, St Croix, they had been what had gotten him his job with G. Washington, they had been what had landed him the heart of Eliza Schuyler, the daughter of the richest family on the Eastern coast. Letters.

She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. Eliza almost didn't believe herself. A letter. It was A letter that ended her life as she knew it. 'A _letter,'_ she murmured to nobody, because it was a letter that Eliza Schuyler Hamilton read at daybreak on 12th of July 1804. 'What I expected, only the great lord above knows... he's Alexander Hamilton, with his singing, eloquent, _beautiful words._ He didn't even say goodbye…' She knew he wouldn't have. She knew this is what would have happened _no matter the circumstances._

Because it would always have been a letter that killed Alexander Hamilton, if only to fulfill the dark irony at the whims of God.

Eliza didn't cry. She did not lose herself in a flurry of emotions and she did not start wailing in the streets as she had done once before. Because, Eliza Hamilton had a duty. She had a duty to her children, who would be left at the mercy of a cruel and unforgiving world without her. She had a duty _to_ said world, who would be clamouring at her doorsteps to get the first words of a death that had the potential to shake the newfangled nation to its very core. She had a duty to her family, who was resting in blissful ignorance. So, Eliza did not weep and weep and weep as she longed to do, like she had wanted to do for so long she had forgotten what simple happiness felt like. No, she slipped into one of the worn masks she had an array of, and strode from the house, with only a slight glisten in her eyes that betrayed the tragedy that had struck the Hamilton household.

 **I'm back! the three letters represent three out of four parts of Hamilton's life, and I think that the last one was the best, so I am sorry, Peggy didn't get a very good one! If you have any suggestions or tips, please review!**


	5. Satisfied

**It's been a year, people. I'm so sorry, it went so fast I barely thought any time had passed!**

It was the fourteenth of December, 1780, and Angelica Church's sister was finally getting married, after the months of rescheduling and postponing that came from having a groom who travelled everywhere with General Washington, unwilling to miss anything even for the sake of his wedding. Icy patterns were etched onto the thick glass panes of St Thomas Church, and even from where she stood next to Eliza on the altar, Angelica could just make out the swirling snowstorm thundering outside. Still, however cold it may have been outside, it was decidedly hot inside the church; the air stifling with so many bodies packed into such a small space, and Angelica was uncomfortably warm in the comfortable bridesmaid dress that she and Eliza had chosen. The church was alit with candles and awash with rose petals in all the colours of a pastel rainbow. It was a fairytale wedding for her sister, Angelica didn't know how it _couldn't_ have been perfect; after all, it only seemed fair that the universe should give Eliza the one thing she had wished for her whole life.

The crowds that sat on pews or stood at the back were quiet, staring at the couple on the dais. Eliza's eyes were shining, and Angelica couldn't have been happier for her sister and her love at that moment. Hamilton would treat her well. He would have to treat her well. She hoped he would treat her well. Angelica stood to the right of her sister, and raised her glass.

 _A toast to the groom!_

She would do anything for him, she really would.

 _A toast to the bride!_

She would do anything for her, she really would.

 _From your sister, who's always by your side_

 _To your union_

She would do anything for them, she really would.

 _And the hope that you provide_

 _May you always_

 _Be satisfied_

It might have been the emotions of the moment. It might have been that this church wasn't just where Eliza had first met him, but her too. It might have been her guilt at not feeling nothing but pure joy at the wedding of the one she loved the most. It might have been a lot of things, but none of them could change the fact that Angelica could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and they weren't from happiness.

 _Rewind_

It had been just under a year ago, near Valentine's day that the fourth battalion, serving under General George Washington himself, had ended up near New York. Her mother, being the person she was, had seen it fit to throw a "soiree" for the battle-weary soldiers, to give them some peace of mind. The Schuyler Sisters had been the belles of the ball, and everyone knew it.

 _I remember that night_

 _I just might regret that night for the rest of my days_

 _I remember those soldier boys tripping head over themselves to win our praise_

Angelica, Eliza, Peggy. She knew that most of the obnoxious, big-headed men who tried to court any of the sisters would be doing it with stars in their eyes, not for the women themselves, but for the fortune they represented. That's why, as the oldest sister, the street-smartest sister, it was up to Angelica Schuyler to be one step ahead of them at all times; and she had been too, for all of the four years the twenty-year-old had already had to endure of selfish men trying to win her for themselves. It might have been the fact that it had been a long day before the ball had even started, or it might have been the flowers in the air celebrating Valentine's Day, the one day a year that gentlemen tried to act like gentlemen. Whatever it was, Angelica was, for once, determined to set her worries and pragmatisms aside for a night, and just enjoy herself.

 _I'll remember that dreamlike candlelight_

 _like a dream that you can't quite place_

The yellow candles had provided the only light in the massive room, somewhere, incense was burning and filling Angelica with the strong, heady scent of fake flowers, her corset was almost tight enough to cut off blood flow, but Angelica wore the satiny red-pink dress with pride. Everything was as hazy and soft as the music that came and went in lilting swirls, and waiters were drifting soundlessly, putting tall flutes of champagne with an unknown alcohol content into the hands of couples who drank readily. Those who hadn't smiled in weeks were laughing, more out of knowing they were in a place where they _could_ laugh than anything else. Glasses were clinking, couples were dancing and moments seemed like they could last entire lifetimes. Clouds hung to the high ceiling, Angelica didn't known where they'd come from. The church was ethereal and timeless; a monument to a moment that would vanish in the blink of an eye.

 _But Alexander, I'll never forget the first time I saw your face_

It was his eyes that she could remember the most. She'd seen them from...somewhere, but all she'd noticed were the soft, dainty flames of a candle reflecting into his pupils, giving him the look of someone not quite from this world. They were what had caught her first, and as the night progressed, she knew they were what had kept her.

Angelica prided herself on her self-control, but for that one evening, it was as if she had forgotten who she was. Regret wasn't something she believed in; it seemed pointless to berate ones self for something that could never be changed, but that didn't mean she hadn't made herself sick with regret for choosing that night to throw her cares to the wind. She had let herself be swept away in those intelligent eyes that burned with an uncontrollable desire to be doing something, to be making a difference; she let herself get carried away listening to the ideas that were brimming inside his head, each one better than the last. Alexander Hamilton might have been a street rat, but he spoke with more eloquency than any gentleman she had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

' _You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied'_

Angelica Schuyler was revolutionary. Her mind was as exquisite as the patterns in a fractured glass bead. She knew she was smart, and she knew she could make a difference; but she also knew her place in the world, and her duty to her family, may it be to her sisters, or to her children or to her father. She would help them, she would protect them before she ever tried to go further. Angelica Schuyler knew she wouldn't be satisfied with the life she was leading, but she knew that, if she tried, she could learn to live as she was without hurting herself or anyone around her.

' _There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait'_

Alexander Hamilton was revolutionary. He was as relentless as the ocean waves, and like the ocean, those who got caught in the deadly currents of his charm and his words and his poise would unfailingly be either tossed aside in his rush to be someone better, or dragged under the waves. Alexander Hamilton would take his place in the world if he had to carve it out for himself. He would make a difference, he would leave a legacy, he would be in history books for centuries after he had turned to bones and dust. Alexander Hamilton had to make a difference somewhere, and he would do anything if it made the world a better place. He would never be satisfied; he would never let himself become satisfied.

 _So, so, so_

 _This is what it feels like to match wits_

 _with someone at your level what the hell is the catch?_

"The Congress is spending its money on useless funding for a war that we cannot win through fancy uniforms. America is already hurtling towards an economic crisis, and we will not win this war without France's help. Now is the time to drop all unnecessary spending and concentrate on getting foreign aid" Alexander said. They had been dancing together for enough songs to make Angelica lose count. He kept stepping on her feet, and he kept missing the steps to even simple dances, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Angelica had figured from the minute he first spoke that he hadn't come from a rich family, but it was late, and she was drunk enough to have forgotten her duty to her father, her siblings, to her name.

"Well, it has come to a point where our Congress has to decide if they value the lives of men who are out fighting in the battlefields more than they do the measly gold in their banks," Angelica agreed, "We need foreign aid to win this war, and even our most vehement French supporters will not give their aid for free; our country has enough national debt as it is. A financial disaster is reversible. Death isn't," she couldn't even begin to try to explain how much it had been paining her to stay quiet and keep her opinions within herself. He was the first person to take the opinions of a woman seriously, something even her father wouldn't do. It was nothing short of exhilarating.

 _He's a bit of a flirt but I'm a' give it a chance_

She couldn't remember the exact moment when she'd completely forgotten that she was engaged. She couldn't remember the exact moment when she'd forgotten she wasn't allowed to even so much look in the direction of a street urchin. She couldn't remember the exact moment when she'd fallen for his intelligent mind, his orator's voice, or his captivating, restless eyes, with bags under them visible even in the dim candlelight.

All she remembered was dancing, and dancing, and dancing, until her feet hurt in her too tight slippers, and she was lightheaded with the wine, and she had memorized the feel of his hands against her waist. Angelica hadn't believed in love at first sight, and she still didn't, but she could agree that this was pretty damn close to it.

It was lucky she had had her head on her shoulders, because looking back on it, she wasn't sure how many of her memories were real, and how many of them had been created by the growing affection she held for Alexander Hamilton. She wasn't sure if she would have walked to the end of the world with him that night, or if she was warping her memories of a mutual admiration into something else entirely. She wasn't sure she _wouldn't_ have, either, though, which scared her more than she cared to admit.

 _I wanna take him far away from this place_

Hands on chests and feet dancing on the floor and hair twirling in crazy circles; it was all she could see, and it was all she wanted to see. Angelica Schuyler, was, for once, entirely caught up in the moment. She didn't know how long they had been there, dancing without ever really doing what they were supposed to do. She'd stopped counting the glasses of wine that seemed to appear endlessly in her hands. It was as if they were the only two people on Earth; she had stopped worrying about the rumours and the whispers that followed them like buzzing bees. She would deal with the repercussions of being seen dancing so _closely_ with one who was not her betrothed the next day. Her head was cloudy; she didn't know if it was the liquor or the atmosphere, but she would have been happy to stay like that for the rest of her life.

 _Until I turn and see my sister's face and she is_

 _Helpless_

 _And her eyes are just helpless_

Her eyes were wild as she searched for somewhere, _any_ where, they could go to finally be alone. It was as if she had known him for years to achieve this pinnacle of intimacy they shared, not barely a few hours. It was as she searched that her eyes connected with the glazed blue eyes gazing at him; the eyes that belonged to Eliza. Eliza had never looked at someone like that before, she had always been the one to find men something strange, and sometimes borderline unsettling with how they looked at her. Yet, here she was, her younger sister, the only Schuyler with an ounce of sense in her head, looking at Alexander hamilton like he was the only man in th world. As she looked back on it, Angelica found it darkly ironic that what had been found with the dark blue eyes that still sometimes appeared against the back of her eyelids as she slept, had ended with the eyes that looked from a distance like they might as well have been her own, shade for shade.

 _And I realize three fundamental truths at the exact same time_

She couldn't keep him. It would never work. She barely knew him. All around Angelica, the dream she had built for herself, the one that was never meant to last more than a night, shattered around her, broken shards cutting her right down to her heart. She couldn't do it. Eliza would always come first to Angelica, and if Eliza was looking at someone Angelica could barely call an aquaintance with nothing less than love in her eyes, than Angelica had no right keeping him for herself. She just couldn't do it. She already had someone, and even if she hadn't, he wouldn't, _couldn't,_ be the one for her. It wasn't the Schuyler way; they had a reputation to uphold. She would never be able to do it. She didn't even know if he was feeling what she was. There was a massive chance that the only reason he was even here was to win the heart of one of the richest women in America. Maybe this one was meant for sister.

" _Where are you taking me"_

" _I'm about to change your life"_

" _Than by all means lead the way"_

Where was Eliza? The eyes that had been searching for privacy in a room filled with the people whose stories about her she would have to face tomorrow, against the harsh light of day, now roamed around looking for the telltale blue velvet her sister always sported. It would be fine, she barely knew him.

 _Number one_

 _I'm a girl in a world in which my only job is to marry rich_

She was the oldest Schuyler daughter for the sake of God! She was meant to end up with a rich man who would serve to help her family's status. The burden was on her to stem the constantly flowing rumours that whispered in dark corners about her: the _errant Schuyler daughter,_ and the _disgrace that she's bringing to the family._ She was the smartest, and she was the one who, in another world, would have brought something new into the world, but in this life, the only one she would ever live, she had to settle for helping anyone she could. Even if that meant marrying for money; it went against all her morals, all her values, but she would do it if that was what was best for her family.

His hands trailed down her arms. She only hesitated for a fraction of a second before she pulled away from his touch; she was sure he noticed it. Angelica took a breath. It would be like tearing off a bandage, it would hurt, but she would forget about it soon. It would be fine, if only she could find Eliza. Finally, _finally,_ her eyes landed on the small figure standing with someone in a bright yellow dress. Eliza and Peggy. She headed towards them, raising a hand in greeting. It would be fine now. Eliza was here.

" _Elizabeth Schuyler, It's a pleasure to meet you"_

" _Schuyler?"_

" _My sister"_

Eliza's cheeks had flooded with colour before she had even spoken to him. Peggy had flounced off, having no doubt read the unspoken conversation between her two sisters. Angelica's hand lingered in his for a second, nobody noticed. Eliza had stars in her eyes, it was plain to see, and Angelica still couldn't convince herself that she was making the right decision. What had happened to her?

 _Number two_

 _He's after me 'cause I'm a Schuyler sister that elevates his status_

It couldn't be denied any longer: however much they might have spoken, however much they might have gotten to know each other, it had all been under the pretense of two strangers. Angelica had embellished herself to him; who couldn't say he hadn't done the same towards her? There was every chance that her feelings were entirely one-sided, which lent every possibility that she didn't have to haul all this anguish onto herself.

But. she couldn't get his eyes out of her head even as she stayed with her sister, responding to her silent plea to help keep the conversation flowing. His eyes when they had first landed on her. She knew there had been genuine emotion there, and even though she didn't believe in love at first sight, that didn't mean that she didn't believe in _some_ feeling at first sight; it just wasn't anything that you could build a relationship on alone. She stopped herself from shaking her head in the middle of their conversation, just to get the traitorous thoughts that floated insolently at the top of her head out.

" _Thank you for your service"_

" _If it takes fighting a war for us to have met it would have been worth it"_

" _I'll leave you to it"_

Angelica smiled and ducked out of the conversation. It was late and her hair was starting to fall from the elaborate braids piled on her head, hanging lankly around her face in a thin curtain, and for once she didn't care. She was listless as she went to the nearest waiter and took glasses of bubbling champagne in both hands, it was done. She'd done it. Angelica gulped down both glasses; she started looking for the waiter again.

 _Number three_

 _I know my sister like I know my own mind_

 _You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind_

 _If I tell her that I love him she'd be silently resigned_

Angelica could love again; she wasn't even sure what she was feeling now _was_ love, and not just the by-product of the liquor in her throat and the emptiness in her head. Besides, even if it was love, she knew that, however much she might have maybe loved Alexander Hamilton, she loved her sister more. Eliza had done so much from her. She had helped her hide the broken shards of a priceless vase Angelica had knocked down when they were both small. She had helped her draft dozens of unsent letters to congress telling them, _begging_ them to do something other than keep printing now nearly worthless paper money as their baseless attempts to curb an economic crisis Angelica knew could only be fixed with a stable tax system that helped _america,_ not its English counterparts. She could do this for Eliza.

Angelica was drifting across the ballroom, through dancing couples that twirled away when she came close, with an eye trained on the conversing two she'd left. Angelica couldn't deny that she'd never seen Eliza so animated when she was talking to a complete stranger than she was with Alexander. Her eyes were bright and she could see the light in them from across a hundred dancers. Angelica had made the right choice. That didn't mean it hurt any less.

 _But when I fantasize at night its Alexander's eyes_

The ones that had captured her when they'd first met, they ones that hadn't let her go even as she married someone else, even as she celebrated his marriage with her sister. The ones that sparked with ideas that were waiting to be put on paper and executed to make a difference in the lives of people who would be born centuries later. The ones that glowed with unseen flames that told a story of ambition and power. The ones that she knew wouldn't stop burning until eventually they burned themselves out. The ones that she saw mirrored back at her every time she looked in the mirror at herself.

 _As I romanticize what might have been if I hadn't sized him up so quickly_

 _At least my dear Eliza's his wife_

 _At least I keep his eyes in my life_

Angelica tried to force to words out...she didn't know how long she'd been standing at the alter with her glass raised, silently toasting to her sister's wedding, but they wouldn't come. Her vision was blurry with tears that she wouldn't let fall. Her sister was staring at her with hope and admiration, radiant with nothing but joy. Angelica felt bitter and hollow and completely, utterly _unworthy_ of her sister's pride. Alexander was staring at her, glowing with happiness, but she could see in him the ever-present worry and restlessness that she knew would never end.

She closed her eyes and thrust her hands up with the grace she knew only she could muster. She was happy for her. She was happy for him. She was happy for them.

 _To the groom_

She would do anything for him, she really would.

 _To the bride_

She would do anything for her, she really would.

 _From your sister_

 _Who is always by your side_

 _To your union_

She would do anything for them, she really would.

 _And the hope that you provide_

She knew they would be happy together. Eliza would keep him grounded, she would make sure he didn't fly away and forget to come back. Alexander would help Eliza achieve whatever she wanted to do in life; he wouldn't hold her back. They would be happy, and whatever the small bitter thing had crawled into her heart was, Angelica knew with complete certainty that the blazing warmth she felt in her chest was her happiness for their happiness.

 _May you always_

 _Be satisfied_

All she could do now was hope that they would be as happy forever as they were now.

 _And I know_

 _She'll be happy as his bride_

As long as he loved her, Eliza would be happy. That was all she had ever, would ever ask for; and Angelica was sure that she would get it. Eliza would get the big, happy family she had always wanted. She would get the loving husband, the doting father to her children. She would get it all from him. Eliza would be happy, and that was all that mattered to Angelica

 _And I know_

 _He will never be satisfied_

Angelica didn't what it would take to calm Alexander down enough for him to even feel a hint of satisfaction, even pride, of what he had done, who he was with, and the family he had made with Eliza. All she could hope for was that, in the inferno that was his mind and his rapid progress towards a goal that could never be reached, he wouldn't burn Eliza with himself. That was all she could hope for, because she knew that nothing in the world would convince Alexander to stop even for a minute; so, she wouldn't try. All she would do was help in whatever way she could to make sure he didn't hurt himself or anyone around him in his haste to make a difference.

 _I will never be satisfied_

She would never get to achieve all she wanted, all she knew she could achieve. But, maybe, she could learn to live with the life that she would have to live. That was all she had, and maybe, someday, she would learn to be grateful, even happy, with her lot in life.


	6. Colours - blue

**Hey! So, this one's shorter than normal, more a drabble than a story, but there are a few things you need to know for it to make sense:**

 **1\. It's a modern setting**

 **2\. Alex is blind in this one**

 **3\. Eliza has synaesthesia, which is a phenomenon where the wires in your head get mixed up, and you can sense something with an abnormal sense. I'm sorry, I described that badly, but it's a condition where, for example, people can taste colour, or hear sounds or certain numbers and alphabets have a corresponding colour etc.**

 **I think that's all you need to know, please comment and tell me how you thought my writing was, and now on we go with the show!**

'I've been wondering,' he said, sprawled out on the couch with his eyes closed and his head at hers as she read, sitting on the carpeted floor, leaning against the couch, 'what's your favourite colour?' Eliza smiled vaguely, barely paying attention to the world outside her biology textbook, 'what do you mean?'

'You know,' he said, sitting up a bit, 'what your favourite colour?'

'...it would barely make a difference to know a name,' she said, and, secretly glad to find a reason to give up on a world of arthropod skeletons, put the book down on the floor. He shrugged. 'I still want to know.'

Eliza rolled her eyes a bit, but indulged him anyway, 'blue,' she said, 'I love literally any shade of blue, I always have; it was the only colour I ever wore as a kid.'

He smiled, 'I can almost see it in my head,' he said, tugging her up to sit next to him on the couch.

'Sure you can,' she said.

He laughed, sitting up properly now, facing her direction, 'describe it to me then.'

'What?' the word came out of its own accord, startled out of Eliza more because she had nothing else to say than her really wanting to say it.

'Like, imagine you couldn't see the colour, for even just a few seconds. How would you put it in words?' he asked, 'and besides, I know you can feel and hear and see colours as much as I can't. And I also know that you breathe and speak and act with colour every day, so it shouldn't be that difficult for you to try and give me a little piece of that, even just for a bit.'

'God, Alexander, you can't expect me to try and speak about something that's not even tangible, not when you're here, and you're eloquent, and everyone knows you're the one who's good with words.' She said, shaking her head and praying the sentiment came out just as vigorously in speech. 'I'd probably end up speaking nonsense for two minutes, and end up confusing us both more than how we started.'

'Just try.' He said.

'You know how there's a reason they say that a single picture is worth a thousand words...a colour couldn't be put into a million.' she replied, although her eyes were far away, trying to put the colour that was so deeply entrenched into her being that it was more a feeling than a colour really, into words.

He just looked at her for a long while. 'Confusion really isn't that bad, sometimes.'

She knew she was going to do it already, so she might as well try and make it good. She took a deep breath, picking up the forgotten textbook from the floor to put it on the coffee table beside her. She took his hand. She started.

'Well, imagine the sky?' she said, her words more a question than anything else.

'...I can't,' he said, smiling a little.

'...ok. Um, do you remember that time we went to the beach for a holiday last year?' she asked, and he nodded, 'and do you remember the ocean water when it was freezing at night and we could feel the sea-spray up to our arms? When it was so cold that I almost fell into the sea because my feet had gone numb after like five minutes? That was blue.'

He nodded slightly, letting his head drop onto her shoulder, and she kept going. 'And when you're going for a walk at night, and the air is so cold, and the wind is so brisk that you can taste the air and you can smell flowers coming from somewhere but you can't tell where? That's also blue. And the feeling when you get a mark that you think is unfair, or when your job application's rejected without a reason, or when _they_ tell you they don't feel the same way…' he looked at her for a long second. 'I know you've felt that way, Alexander. When you're drowning in your sadness and you don't feel like you could ever find a way out of the dark pit in yourself you've retreated to, that neverending hole of black despair that I _know_ you've felt before. That's blue as well.'

She paused for a minute and took a deep breath, remembering why she'd loved the colour so much, remembering why she did love the colour so much still. 'But it's also the colour you see when you're calm, at peace with the world and everything it holds. It's the colour you feel when you're listening to silence, and realise it's not silence, not really, because you can hear cars outside, and feet in the hallway outside, and somewhere, there's a bird singing.' She said.

'It sounds beautiful,' Alexander said, his eyes far away in some other place inside of himself. Eliza allowed herself a small small, 'it really is.'

'I can see why it's your favourite colour.' he said, 'and, for a moment, it felt like I could see you, and it, and everything else, too.'


End file.
